Absolute
by Ly Merrick
Summary: Cordelia is on a downward spiral after Hank's betrayal and her mother's abandonment. Everyone gives up on her but Misty.


**Pairing:** Cordelia/Misty  
**Synopsis:** Cordelia is on a downward spiral after Hank's betrayal and her mother's abandonment. Everyone gives up on her but Misty.  
**A/N:** This was based on an amazing prompt from an anon. I did take some creative liberties during some parts (I hope that's okay, anon!) because I felt it made the story flow more naturally and fit the characters more. The way it's set up is in a way that could possibly bring more than one part (no promises). I hope I did this prompt justice. I love slow-burners and the process of falling in love, so I guess that's what this is about. Even at our most messed up, the ones that love us the most are the ones who'll be there at the end.

* * *

Misty had never seen someone really spiral out of control before, at least not in an obviously destructive way. So when she watched the transformation of her typically gentle headmistress into someone who lashed out at her students, she knew something was wrong. Ever since the confrontation in the greenhouse, Cordelia had become increasingly temperamental and reclusive.

And then there were the late nights – clattering at the front door, the sound of dual stumbling up the stairs and shared laughter. After lights out, Cordelia left them alone in the house; Fiona had left the house after a blowout between herself and her daughter. (The sound of Fiona slapping her daughter still angered Misty when she thought on it too long.) It was completely unlike Cordelia to disappear, to leave them virtually unprotected during such a dangerous time. Not to mention putting her own self at risk by going out unchaperoned where essentially any of the witch hunters could find her.

She would have stepped in sooner if she'd felt that the friendship between herself and Cordelia had been solidified before this mess. All she knew was that she cared very much for the headmistress and late at night she covered her ears at the sound of Cordelia's crying – when she didn't bring home some nameless body to warm her bed.

Cordelia still invited her to the greenhouse but Misty often felt disinclined; it was difficult to watch someone she cared about careen into madness and depression. The distant and detached look in Cordelia's eyes made it difficult to connect to the woman who had weeks before felt so alive, warm, pulsing with the very energy that caused the sun to continue its millennia-long burn. The Cordelia that greeted her in the mornings now was not the woman she had met.

Misty cursed herself for being so afraid of Cordelia's decline. After all, when you cared about someone, you were supposed to help them no matter what. It was with this viewpoint that she watched each student eventually give up – Zoe stopped trying to get Cordelia to teach them things they needed to know, Queenie stopped asking Cordelia to play cards with her. Eventually, they all stopped knocking on Cordelia's bedroom door.

Except Misty. She stood there nervously now; Cordelia had not gone out this night and as a consequence was locked away somewhere, crying distantly through at least one solid wood door, if not more of them. The Cajun traced her fingers over the wood of the door and closed her eyes, taking a breath to steel herself for the wrath that would greet her. It greeted everyone when they tried to soothe Cordelia.

Misty didn't knock, and instead pried the door open with a lean of her shoulder. As she had suspected, Cordelia was not in her room. She'd not spent a great amount of time in there but there had at least been a bathroom and a walk in closet, by the look of things. She frowned, furrowed her brow as she peered toward the closet, but a wrenching sob came from the other direction.

Bathroom.

Misty padded quietly, the silhouette of her dress and shawl lengthening in the moonlight the closer she got to the window and the bathroom door. She knocked, lightly at first.

"Please go away," Cordelia's voice implored from the other side of the door. "Whoever you are. I don't need anything."

When Misty didn't move, instead slipping down the front of the door and sitting in front of it, she heard an order barked out from the other side of the door.

"Get out!"

Misty refused in her own way, tugging her knees upward toward her chest and resting her chin there. She hummed Stevie, quietly. She heard no more protests, but she knew that if she could learn to withstand Cordelia's wrath and grief this way, then she could eventually get Cordelia to let her in.

The sobbing continued, and Misty fell asleep with her head against the door, her fingers peeking just under the edge.

When she woke, Cordelia was silent and the sunlight was warming Misty's sleepy frame. There seemed to be no upset from the other side of the door, so she lifted herself from the floor and gently opened the bathroom door. Cordelia had fallen asleep, clothed, in the tub. She'd clearly not wanted to come out and confront whoever it was that so adamantly refused to leave her side in the middle of the night.

Misty kneeled next to the tub, traced her fingers over Cordelia's hair for a brief moment. Even in Cordelia's sleep, she looked just a little sad. Misty wanted to help, wanted to breach the wall of pain, but she had a feeling this would take time. Cordelia had been betrayed by a man that was supposed to love her, and often abandoned by the only adult meant to take care of her in childhood and beyond. Misty imagined the trust that Cordelia wanted to have, the compassion, had been damaged and would take some work. It was like healing, but there was no swamp mud to speed the process.

Misty would be patient, the way she was with her most delicate plants. She reached into the tub, looping her arm around Cordelia's waist as the half-asleep headmistress stood with some assistance. She didn't seem to be aware of the fact she was being walked back into her bedroom and coaxed onto the mattress. The Cajun tucked Cordelia in before making her way into the bathroom again, searching the cabinet for two aspirin and the small cup set next to the sink. She filled the cup with water and set the pills beside.

Just in case.

###

Misty spent her time in the greenhouse, her heart heavy and her mind working through ways in which to make Miss Cordelia come to life again, so to speak. It seemed the woman was a shell. She'd spent almost every other night outside of Cordelia's bathroom door, sometimes falling asleep, sometimes not. Cordelia seemed to grow quietest when Misty would hum or sing through the door, her fingers barely peeking under the edge – imploring.

She had not seen Cordelia's conscious face in some time. Whenever she did see her, she saw her asleep as she helped her into bed. Sometimes she half-carried her, as much as her strength allowed. Always she stayed beside the bed just long enough to make sure Cordelia was going to remain asleep.

When Misty did come out of the greenhouse, she was fielding questions about Cordelia's well-being. (The girls had noticed that Cordelia yelled less, cried just as much, but still, someone was getting in. They watched Misty go into Cordelia's room almost every night for the last two weeks.)

The answers were never simple, Misty knew, and when she returned to her room late one night, just as she closed her bedroom door, she heard Cordelia stumbling in. Some man was speaking low as they passed Misty's door, and Misty had to close her eyes tightly as if to shut the world out. This woman she cared about, was tending so delicately to, was spiraling still, despite her meager efforts. Despite the efforts Cordelia allowed.

Her heart raced as she considered opening her door and coming into the hallway. It took a lot of debate but she did just as the footsteps retreated far enough to let her know this was her last opportunity.

"You can't do this, Miss Cordelia," Misty implored down the dark hallway. "And whoever you are, you can't take advantage of a woman the way you're about to. She's clearly not in any state to give you consent for climbin' into her bed. It's not right."

"—the hell is this?" The man chuckled drunkenly, sloppily moving down toward Misty and his breath arriving before he did. Misty covered her nose briefly.

"Get out," Misty demanded quietly. "Before I make you regret not listenin' to me, mister. I'm tryin' to be civil here 'cause that's what's right."

The man teetered forward, face looming closer. "Or what?"

"What's going on?" Another voice joined, Zoe's head peering from her own doorway. "Who is this guy? Misty, is he bothering you?"

"He's tryin' to pull the wool over Miss Cordelia's eyes like the rest of 'em and I won't have it," Misty stepped back as the man stepped forward. Her fear was there but she tried to ignore it. "You need to leave."

"M-m. This is … stupid," Cordelia was slurring from the doorway. She started to lean against the wall and move closer. She reached for the anonymous man as if to ignore Misty's demands for the man to leave. "I'm in charge here."

"You ain't really fit for that right now, Miss Cordelia, and I really don't mean to upset you but this man has got to go. I'm not gonna let you wreck yourself like this," Misty turned her gaze from the half-shadowed face of her headmistress to the red-faced drunk looming down at her.

"Who the fuck are you anyway?"

"Someone with enough power to make sure you can't ever reproduce," Misty glanced down at the man's crotch area. She felt the heat just behind her eyeballs, felt the burning sensation in her fingertips just as she did when she was able to light a small flame.

The man suddenly stumbled back, his hands cupping his genitals. "What the _fuck?_" A small flame had caught right in the thigh of his jeans and he was smacking it out, yelling in anger. It didn't take long for him to stumble down the stairs and slam the front door shut.

Cordelia rolled her eyes, began to retreat to her own room without so much as a word. Her hand traced against the wall for stability, her feet uncertain in her inebriation. Misty surged forward, Zoe's eyes darting between them, and Misty grasped Cordelia's arm, "You gotta _stop _this, Miss Cordelia," she meant to say more, but her hand was slapped away with a bit of a sting.

"Stay out of my affairs," Cordelia slurred angrily and all but fell into her room, the door slamming shut in the frame.

Misty stood, bewildered and feeling just a little bit injured by Cordelia's aggression. She covered her hand, tucked it against her stomach.

"Misty –" Zoe began in a soothing way, but the Cajun shook her head.

She gave a faltering smile, one that flickered and then disappeared, "She's … just not herself right now. I gotta be patient."

###

Cordelia consumed Misty's thoughts. Many drunken nights followed the last, and Misty only managed to scare away about half the men and women Cordelia was bringing home. The other nights Misty kept vigil outside of Cordelia's bathroom, listening to the woman's tireless sobs.

"Did I ever tell you about the albino gator?"

Sobs answered her. Misty wanted to try to do something different, wanted to coax the real Cordelia back out somehow. Not this creature of despair and destructive impulse. She tapped on the door gently.

"You gotta listen real close, okay?"

The sobs quieted. There was a vague mumble, and then sniffles.

"There was an albino gator I found in my swamp once. It was just a little pup, the way they are when they just hatch. Most of the time, the albino ones don't live long, you know. They're too easy to see, get eaten by others or by somethin' else. It was sunnin' in my garden, and kinda started to scuffle away when it saw me," Misty's smile was slow, but she closed her eyes as she told the story. She missed the smell of her swamp, her garden. The sound of animals at night.

"I started feedin' it. Mostly birds that I found dead near. Roadkill, anything really. And then it started learnin' how to find its own food and it started getting' big and real mean. A bull gator – they're about as mean as can be."

"I never asked for your help," a protest came from close behind, through the wood of the door. Misty's heart picked up just enough to let her know Cordelia was sitting back to back with her, the door between them.

"I named him Eden. I know it's a weird name for a boy gator, but I felt like it fit him. He started gettin' too big, but sometimes late at night I'd wake up and I'd roll over on my cot 'n he'd be there, layin' nearby. All big and white in the moonlight. I could see the trail of where his tail had been when he'd shuffled through the door. He wasn't mean all the time, just when he was hungry."

"What is the point of this, Misty?" Cordelia sounded tired. Never mind the fact that she was actually engaging Misty in conversation, she was sounding a little more human each moment that passed.

"He was real mean, see. So I started thinkin' maybe I shouldn't let him around anymore. Maybe he didn't need me, but the fact that at night he felt safest in my shack – that let me know that he was attached to me too. It was like havin' a real big dog with scales." Misty laughed to herself, toying with the edges of her shawl. "My point is that it didn't matter that he was mean. He still was the same gator I found as a pup. And it didn't mean that I should stop carin'. Mean don't make me go away."

Cordelia responded with silence. It was perhaps a good fifteen minutes before the door started to open, Misty sitting forward and starting to stand, eyes cast up at a very tired-looking Cordelia. There was no humor, no smile on her lips, but she looked present at the very least.

"Go to bed, Misty."

###

This wasn't the first time Misty had picked Cordelia up from the bar. It was actually the sixth or seventh, if Misty kept count. She had thought – the night she told the story – that things were getting better but the spiral downward didn't stop.

The only thing that changed now was that Cordelia called her, slobbering drunk, when she was unable to get herself home. She was about as angry as she had ever been with Miss Cordelia, and she had a sort of tunnel vision as she pushed through the stinking bar crowd and ignored jostling elbows.

Cordelia was half-passed out on the bar when Misty spotted her. She wondered, absently, if Cordelia even know who was dragging her angrily out of the bar and putting her in the passenger's side of the car, buckling her in.

"This is downright childish, damnit," she cursed as she slammed her own door shut and started the car again. "You're spendin' about as much time wallowin' in your own mud as your damn mother did when she left us to our own devices. What the hell are we supposed to do if you don't start actin' responsible, 'Delia?"

"I have – " Cordelia sputtered, "I have been responsible for someone else my _whole _life and you –" the headmistress hiccupped, "—who do you think you are to lecture me like you're so perfect with your –" she flicked a strand of Misty's hair, "Curly hair and good nature."

Misty bit her bottom lip, focused angrily on the road as she drove them home. "I'm gettin' about fed up. I know you've been through a hell of a lot and I'm not one to judge – I mean I … you're the only thing I can focus on but just because things didn't turn out the way you thought it doesn't mean you can put yourself in danger!"

Cordelia was mumbling and leaning heavily across the partition, "You're – " _hiccup _"pretty attractive when you're angry. Why don't you –" _hiccup _"follow me up to my room."

Misty put the car in park, "I'mma pretend you didn't say that, alright?" She rounded the car just a moment later, unbuckled Cordelia from her seat and forcefully dragged her out, lead her by the hand inside and up the stairs. "I'm tired of pickin' your sorry ass up at the bar. We need a leader, 'Delia, and I need – I need my friend back."

"Cordelia is –" _hiccup, _"gone."

Misty whirled on Cordelia, looming above her on the stairs, her hand firm on the headmistress' arm, "Don't you ever say that. I know you're in there. You're just too scared to pick yourself up and get hurt again but I'm gonna tell you what. You're gonna get hurt again. You're just too dumb to see you don't have to do it alone."

She jerked Cordelia by the hand, guided her to her room, and left the headmistress passed out on top of the covers.

###

"Why are you still trying?"

"She's broken," Zoe said with a tinge of sadness. "She's never going to be like she was. Not at this rate."

"Don't say that," Kyle implored, glancing up from his plate of food. "She just needs someone who loves her enough to keep trying."

Misty was that person, and she knew it. They all did. After all, she was still going into Cordelia's room late at night and sitting outside the door, audience to Cordelia's grief and anger.

"I just won't give up on her. She wouldn't give up on any of us," Misty asserted quietly, her appetite slipping away from her.

###

"Fuck, shit," Cordelia was hissing from her bathroom later that afternoon. "Fuck. I can't just –" Her voice was trembling.

"Miss Cordelia, what's goin' on? You okay in there?"

"Jesus Christ, are you my _nanny _now?"

"I'm gonna ignore the fact you said that," Misty grumbled and didn't wait to open the door.

Blood greeted her sight. Her hand immediately flew to her mouth.

"Get _out! _You can't just barge in here like that!" Cordelia, ignoring her wounds, reached forward to push Misty forcibly from the bathroom but instead the Cajun caught her arms and pushed her against the cold tile wall.

"This is what you've been doing?"

Cordelia's eyes spoke of absolute fear. She had been caught in her self-destruction.

Misty pressed her harder against the wall, in a way that trapped Cordelia the way one would an injured animal. "What can you possibly be thinkin'?"

Cordelia's eyes, reddened, started to fill with tears. She tried to pull her arms away but Misty refused, keeping a firm hold on them, her hips pinning Cordelia in place.

"Cordelia," Misty's voice cracked, "Don't you know?" She wanted to cry. Wanted to break down and pull Cordelia into her arms and protect her from herself. "You can't keep doin' this to yourself. You can't. It's not gonna fix anything. It's gonna make it all worse," Misty's eyes darted over the severe wounds, a few that should have been stitched and one that needed to be.

Cordelia had fallen silent and begun to tremble, but did not fight when Misty pushed her gently to the edge of the tub and forced her to sit. Misty rooted through the bathroom before finding a first-aid kit, cleaning the wounds. She did the best she could, covered them with stark white bandages and pulled Cordelia's sleeves over her arms. Misty sat across from Cordelia, eyes lingering on those injured forearms despite the fact they were hidden from plain sight now.

"Please stop this," Misty pleaded almost too soft to hear. Her heart was shattering. She didn't know how to heal something like this. "Please."

Cordelia couldn't meet Misty's eyes. She wasn't pushing her away though, so it was a tentative start.

###

It was the morning Cordelia asked Misty to make her tea that Misty knew the headmistress was in a slow incline toward recovery. Misty checked on her every night, woke her up at the same time every morning. As far as she knew, Cordelia had made a sincere effort to stop both the drinking and the self-injury.

"Here," Misty encouraged softly, handing Cordelia the warm mug of tea and sitting on the chair beside the bed. She felt eyes on her, a quiet gaze, and found herself drawn to it. She wanted to tell Cordelia that she'd never wanted to give up on her, wanted to tell her that it broke her into pieces watching Cordelia disappear into her shell. Seeing her start to heal had been the most joyful days so far. She loved seeing Cordelia's laugh, and her occasional smile. It was in private moments that it returned. It was in the growth of plants in the greenhouse, the way she would watch Misty do her dervish dance.

She saw Cordelia's joy, had seen Cordelia's pain, and loved her for it all. Instead she remained silent under the warm gaze directed at her.

"Thank you," Cordelia murmured at the rim of her cup, eyes cast into the warm liquid. She was saying thank you, Misty knew, for never giving up. For sitting outside the bathroom door every night, sending away countless jerks before they could take advantage, for driving Cordelia home and getting her into bed safely. For being witness to destruction and doing everything in her power to stop it.

Misty did not dignify the gratitude with anything but a shake of her head. She could not say that it's just what you _did _when you loved someone. When you cherished their existence.

###

Cordelia almost wrecked it. She'd shoved Misty against the wall one night in a fit of rage, but instead of injuring Misty as the Cajun thought she might, she'd crushed their lips together and kissed her the way Misty had only feverishly dreamed of in the past months. Her recovery had been going fine and then one night Misty had come in just to check on her and Cordelia's sorrow turned to rage and then –

The next morning Cordelia wouldn't look at Misty. She didn't speak directly to her for nearly a week. Misty was at her breaking point because, despite her limited time with Cordelia and the fact that their friendship and – whatever it was that burned between them … Cordelia was disappearing on her again.

"I can't handle it, not again, Miss Cordelia," Misty spoke late one night from the doorframe. "You won't talk to me now, even though I thought you were getting better. You're disappearin' on me again. I – I feel like maybe you don't want me here. Maybe I should just – take a break. Go back to the swamp for a while."

"You – what?"

"I thought we were gettin' close, and that you were gonna be better soon and I thought – then you went off and kissed me but then you treated me like I was nothin'. Like all I had done to try to make you better meant nothin'. What's worse is I felt like –" Misty shook her head. "I felt stupid. To think someone like you could want me."

Cordelia was dead silent, and Misty couldn't bear it. She retreated just as quickly as she had arrived, heading to the greenhouse and beginning to gather what spare things she'd placed amongst Cordelia's treasured alchemical things.

"You're just going to _leave _like that?"

"Miss Cordelia – I don't exactly feel wanted right now. After all we been through in the last couple months then you – I can't take that kinda game. I don't wanna be caught in the crossfire."

"Just like _everyone _else," Cordelia spat from the doorway. "Take Cordelia the way you want her but not the way she really is –"

"—don't you _DARE _say that to me! How many nights have I taken care of you? Picked you off the sidewalk, cleaned up your wounds, driven creeps away? How many nights did I fall asleep on the other side of the door just to make sure you were okay?" Misty felt her pain tear through her chest and manifest in her words. Tears stung her eyes.

Cordelia seemed frozen in place, her expression unreadable. The Cajun couldn't breathe in the silence, and she made her way around the table and was nearly at the door when she felt a hand clasp in hers. "I'm sorry, I was scared." It was quiet, almost beneath the spectrum of hearing.

"What?" Misty turned, gently pulled her arm from the grasp. Confusion swelled in her chest.

"I was scared. If I – if I let myself love you, love anybody –"

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Love?"

"I was going to tell you but if I had told you, and then something had happened, I had everything to lose. I had nothing left, nothing left at all. And then you were there. You radiated kindness and healing and I fought it for so long because I knew if I _needed _you then I wouldn't be able to survive without you. I knew that meant weakness and vulnerability and loss. If I let myself –" Cordelia's eyes were filling with tears and her hands were shaking as she folded them across her stomach. "You were my beacon of hope and –"

"Miss Cordelia," Misty's head swam a little. She gripped the table for balance and tried to understand what Cordelia was saying to her exactly.

"I saw the way you fell in love with me. I heard it in your voice when you sang to me through the door. You sang me to sleep, you carried me into safety and healing and I was so afraid to let you in."

Misty's eyes met intense brown ones. "Please get to the point before I pass out," she murmured.

Cordelia slipped her hands over Misty's arms. She stepped into them and buried herself against Misty. The Cajun found her arms slipping around Cordelia's trembling frame. "I kissed you because I didn't know how else to tell you I need you."

Misty knew she wouldn't – couldn't – leave now. She'd never be able to leave Cordelia's side again.

"I'm sorry I hurt you."

"I forgive you," Misty breathed quietly, tears coming to her eyes. After a few moments clasping at Cordelia's back she pulled away. She was going to say something but whatever it was fell from her awareness the moment she felt soft lips brush against her own.

"I am so fucked up, but you managed to love me at my worst. That must mean something," Cordelia was stroking the side of Misty's face, peppering kisses against her lips. "I think I could love you too, if you're patient with me. I think I do love you, I'm just scared of it," Cordelia's breath was warm honey against Misty's mouth.

Misty's heart raced, leapt into her throat as she felt lips continually brush against her own. There was a sensuality in it. "Don't play with me," Misty warned quietly. "Please."

And yet, no words could reassure her more than the way Cordelia tangled her fingers in Misty's hair and kissed her the way she would a lover of many years. She tasted affection and intention, the loving way in which Cordelia's thumb rubbed at the base of Misty's skull.

It was in this way she realized that not only did she coax Cordelia back to the world of the living, but Cordelia had opened Misty up to a new kind of living, too. A way to be alive in another human being's heartbeat, their breath. To pin her own well-being so tightly, to knot their existences together. Maybe it wasn't unexpected – the flower of love that had grown roots between them – and maybe they had a long way to go, but Misty decided then that loving Cordelia was the only way to heal her completely.


End file.
